Tripping Over His Own Feet
by Josephine de Chagny
Summary: Prompt: The Phantom is escorting Christine down to his home and he trips and falls and hurts himself. ALW musical based.
1. Chapter 1

_**AN: This came from a prompt over on Tumblr, involving suave, cat-like Erik tripping and hurting himself. I took the prompt and ran. Hoping to update at least once per week until it's completed.**_

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She looked both frightened and entranced by my appearance in her mirror. She, whose face I had all but memorized from afar. _Oh, Christine_, I thought, _you've fallen in love with my voice, yet if you saw what I looked like-_ I couldn't finish the thought. I couldn't _bear_ the thought. I pushed the mirror away from the wall, letting it swing open toward her, revealing the tunnel in which I stood. She stood there, now looking more entranced than frightened.

The absence of fear from her face allowed me just enough confidence to extend my hand, silently pleading for hers. Hesitantly, she placed her delicate hand in my own gloved one and the sensation both relaxed and sent an unpleasant shock through my body. It had been so long since someone had touched me, since I had allowed someone to touch me.

Carefully, I led her along down the corridor, watching the mirror close behind her before turning to face the near-total darkness I led her through. As we walked, as she sang for me, her movements became less hesitant. As we approached the lake, I turned to answer her singing with my own, walking backwards as I did. It wasn't something I often gave thought to, nor something I often found myself doing.

_"The Phantom of the opera is there, inside your-_" I didn't get a chance to finish my sentence as my shoe caught in a small hole that I would have been fully aware of had she not been clouding my mind with both her touch and her voice. I yelped as I scrambled to keep my footing, my hand tearing away from hers as I fell flat on my back, my head cracking against the hard stone floor. The impact caused my vision to be clouded by a horrible white fog, and for a long moment I lay there, groaning in pain.

As my vision cleared, I could see Christine kneeling above me, could see her crying. My hands flew to my mask, thankfully exactly where it was meant to be. Had I been knocked out? If so, for how long? And why was she crying so quietly? I couldn't even hear her-

"It's nothing, I'm all-" I started, but words escaped me as I realized I could not even hear my own voice. My eyes widened as I touched my mouth and attempted to speak again. I was definitely speaking; I could feel the vibrations of sound as I touched my lips, my chin, my neck.

"No," I said. _Why?_ I demanded silently. _What god would curse me this way?_ As soon as the thought crossed my mind it both angered and saddened me. I knew precisely what kind of god would allow me to lose the ability to hear. It was the same god who had cursed me to be born this hideous beast.

I stared up into Christine's face, trying to make sense of the words she was saying, searching for context in her eyes. I had never so desperately wished I could read lips. She reached out for me and I cringed away from her touch, rolling onto my side, facing away from her as I slowly pushed myself up. As I sat up, stars danced before my eyes. Even when I closed my eyes they did not disappear.

_Oh Christine,_ I thought miserably, _how can I be your angel of music if I cannot even hear you sing? How will I ever finish my opera if I cannot listen to the notes I play?_

Tears stung my eyes as I began to realize the extent of the damage I had caused myself. _Fool,_ I spat at myself internally, _wretched fool. You've brought this on yourself. _

I felt her hand on my shoulder, a gesture I'm sure she intended as comforting. I found no comfort in the contact and jerked myself away from her. That was when the pain shot through my back. _Of course_, I thought,_ it is not bad enough for music to be taken from me by my own foolishness. I've injured more than just my head. _

I forced myself to my feet, bracing myself against the wall. _No sense in bringing her any further._ Sighing, I reached out and touched her arm, just enough to get her attention to return to my face in the dim lighting. She stood as well and followed me back along the long corridor. I wondered if she knew what had happened, if she dared guess that her angel could no longer hear. I couldn't bear that thought.

When we again reached the mirror, I pushed it open silently, averting my gaze, avoiding hers. At first, she hesitated. I looked up just enough to see her lips. She was trying to talk to me again. Fresh tears stung my eyes as I said, "Go!"

She reached out, her hand coming dangerously close to the side of my face that was uncovered. I turned my head, pulling away from her as far as I could. Her touch against my bare skin caused every muscle in my body to tense. I closed my eyes and exhaled sharply, wishing she would just go and leave me. Her hand jerked away and I wondered what horrible thing she had heard. I was immediately overcome with guilt as she fled my side. I had frightened her. As the mirror closed again, I watched her disappear out the door and down the hall.

I turned as well, resigning myself to what was certain to be a life of utter hell. An eternity of silent darkness.


	2. Chapter 2

I tore through my home, smashing things against the floor and tearing through stacks of my hard work. It was all for naught now, anyway. What was the point of having composed music if I was never going to hear it played? That very thought, the reminder that I had been deafened filled me with rage anew and I slammed both hands down on my poor organ, which had endured such torture from me before, but never coming from such passionate rage.

I could feel the nearly-pained vibrations of the noise my organ made, but that only made me more angry. A tortured cry escaped my lips, strong and raw enough to cause me real physical pain as my voice escaped me. I fell to my knees, pounding my fists against the floor until such pain ripped up my arms that I was certain that I had broken my hands, but that didn't matter to me anymore. What could possibly matter?

"Why?' I demanded, the force of my cry causing my throat further pain. Great and terrible sobs ripped through my body as I crumpled in a heap. I was still so furious at everything, but mostly at myself. I didn't have the energy to continue. More than anything, I wished that I would be struck dead.

What cruel god would allow a pitiful creature such as myself to live such a long and miserable life, so filled with sin and despair that I would stand no chance at reprieve after death? More than ever, my life felt like a cruel joke.


	3. Chapter 3

**AN: Wow! I just really wanted to say thank you so much for so many views so far! Tripping Over His Own Feet has only been up for less than a full day and already over 200 views! I will be updating this far more frequently until it's done. Thank you kindly for all the views! I look forward to finishing this story for you!**

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I woke with a start, and for a moment I thought that I had gone blind as well as deaf before I realized that all but a small few of my candles had burned out. With a couple of blinks, my eyes adjusted to the dim light again, as they always had. It was only as I moved to sit up that I realized the damage I had caused my hands, which were swollen to nearly triple their usual size. Even brushing them against the ground- or each other- sent horrific, shooting pains up my arms and into my chest and neck, which were already quite stiff from having slept on the floor.

I had to crawl on my elbows and knees over to where the bench for my organ lay overturned in order to even have a hope of pulling myself to my feet. The pain that shot through my body as I pulled the bench back upright caused my vision to completely white out, and I had to sit perfectly still for a long time before I could see again. I wasn't prepared to have two of my senses fail me.

It wasn't the first time I had been injured, nor the first time I'd exacerbated my injuries after the fact, but I couldn't remember a time that I felt as hopeless. As bad as it hurt, I felt I deserved it. It was my own fault, after all. Pitiful Erik, who only wanted to impress the pretty girl with the voice of an angel.

The sadness in her face… I shook my head, unable to think any more about it. I was only going to work myself up worse and I would hurt myself worse. As much as I felt I deserved it, I couldn't take more pain.

I slowly draped myself across the bench, pushing myself up first to my knees, then to my feet using my elbows and chest. Once I was on my feet, it took an intense amount of effort to straighten my back up. I felt something pop as I finally reached my normal height, and my back felt slightly less sore. I looked back down at my hands, now that I was closer to the candles that still managed to cast flickering, low levels of light.

My hands were definitely broken. I couldn't move my ring or little fingers on my left hand, and only my thumb moved on my right. I would count myself lucky if they healed before I would starve to death from inability to feed myself. The thought of a long, painful death by starvation hit me hard enough that I had to sit down. I had starved before. I knew too well how the body could trick the mind; knew how it was to be too weak to move. There were not many things I wanted less than to die in such a slow agony.

_Erik deserves the pain,_ I told myself, _it is my lot in life. _Still, even knowing the agony that lay ahead of me, I found my mind wandering back to Christine Daae, she who had such concern in her eyes the night before. She who had nearly touched poor Erik's face. I wanted to see her again, even if it was just from afar. I found myself looking at my boat, honestly considering going back above ground in an attempt to see her again.

I looked back down at my hands. _No,_ I told myself, _I can't._ I couldn't torture myself further. To see her face would only remind me of that which pained me the most.

The silence was maddening.


	4. Chapter 4

Time passed, but I couldn't be sure how much. I stayed in bed, in the deep darkness of my home. It could have been days, it could have been weeks, but time mattered not to me. I only managed to force myself to move when the thirst that clawed at my throat became unbearable or I needed to relieve myself. It was hard enough to hold a cup in my poor, painful hands. The water I managed to get to my mouth quelled the hunger that gnawed at me from just below my ribs.

The days and nights all blended together in the darkness, though I could guess that it had been at least a week when the swelling in my hands finally began to subside and I was able to bend my fingers, albeit quite painfully and stiffly. I tried quite earnestly to push all thought of Christine Daae from my mind, but the memories of her voice lingered, teasing me. I wondered if she even remembered her angel.

I shook my head to clear the thoughts away again as I sat up in bed. As I swung my legs over and placed my feet on the floor, I administered the same test I had every time I'd gotten up since my foolishness had deafened me. I stamped my foot against the floor, but I heard nothing. I stamped my other foot against the floor, still nothing. Sighing, I pulled my rapidly deteriorating frame up, wavering a little once I was on my feet, and I carefully made my way back out to where my organ stood, silently begging to be played.

It frustrated me so. It was maddening that I could not continue to create music because of one mistake. My eyes wandered to the boat, still resting where it had since that night, however long ago it had been.

My hands were better now, not back to normal but they never would be, and I had not yet become weak enough that I would be unable to make one last journey above ground. Even if I could not hear her beautiful voice again, I would be able to perhaps steal a glance at Christine. If I could see her just once more I knew I would not die an entirely unhappy death. If I could catch her smiling her brilliant smile, even just for a moment, I could die in peace.

I cleaned myself up as best I could; three of the fingers on my right hand were gnarled and immobile. Even if by some miracle I managed to hear again I would never be able to play my organ the way it was meant to be played again. I could barely manage to button my shirt or slip into my jacket. Were I another person with a less horrid visage, I might've had help for such things. I might've been able to ask for help with such things.

I omitted my usual white bow-tie after attempting for the better part of an hour to tie it properly, instead lighting a few candles so I could make sure that my mask sat right on my face. Looking at my face in the mirror, I hardly recognized myself, mistaking my gaunt, sunken cheek and the darkness around my eyes for those of a ghast! I looked positively skeletal, so much that I questioned whether it was wise for me to make a trip to the surface after all. If anybody caught sight of me…

I closed my eyes, breathing in long, slow, deep breaths in an attempt to still myself. When I again opened my eyes, they flashed brightly with a resilience I hadn't seen in myself since I'd first heard Christine's voice. Not a trace of emotion was left in my face. If someone saw me, let them see. I was a man on a mission. _Soon_, I thought, _soon they will forget about me. Perhaps that is a good thing. For tonight, one last scare. Let them try and catch me._

I straightened my jacket and I pinned my pants, which were sagging unpleasantly in the rear. Once I was certain that I looked the best I could possibly under the circumstances, I climbed into my boat and pushed away from the shore of my home. I found it difficult, but not impossible, to hold the oar as long as I kept both hands wrapped around its aging wood.

Once I finally arrived at the other side, I pulled the boat up as far as I could to prevent it from floating away while I did what I needed to do.

I walked along the tunnel that led to Christine's dressing room, quickening my pace every few steps. I found myself growing anxious and excited to see her this one last time. When finally I reached the room, I was amazed to find her sitting there in her dressing gown, brushing her hair as she looked at herself in the mirror. I stayed back, just in the shadows, making certain to keep her from seeing me.

She looked sad. She wore a smile, that same brilliant smile I'd seen on her face many times while I'd tutored her on her singing from the exact spot where I currently stood, but it didn't reach her eyes. Seeing her this way made my heart sink. _What could possibly cause her such sadness?_ I wondered, _surely she doesn't miss her angel so much that it brings her pain._

I wondered if I should say something, but knew it would be useless. I couldn't hear her replies, even if I focused on her mouth as she spoke I wouldn't be able to catch her words. Still, it broke poor Erik's heart to see her this way.

I took a cautious step forward and swallowed hard. As I did, a horrific pain shot through the right side of my head, just behind my ear, shooting down into my neck.

I groaned, my hands flying to my head as the pain peaked and then dissipated. It was only as I hunched over, breathing hard with the aftermath of the pain, that I realized I had heard my pained grunt. My eyes widened as I stood up, tapping my foot carefully against the stone floor. _I could hear it!_ It was like I was listening through a thick swamp, but it gave my poor soul just a glimmer of hope that all was not lost quite yet.

I looked back up to find Christine staring at the mirror, staring through the mirror, confusion and concern in her eyes. "Angel?" Her voice was like music to me, soft and lyrical in the way she said her name for me. I wanted to call out to her, but I feared that she would want to see me again.

I staggered back down the tunnel, rejoicing with each echoing footfall as I hurried back to my home. I had much to do before I could even think of appearing to her again.


	5. Chapter 5

**AN: Sorry for the short chapter, I'm working on the next few now which will each be longer and hold more action. Thank you for reading!**

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I spent the next several days trying to regain more of my hearing, but had no further luck. The muffled sounds that did reach me were hardly something to be happy for, but even the grotesque bastardization of my voice that reached my ear made me want to sob for joy. It was only slightly worse than my hearing had ever been in that ear, which had developed in the same misshapen way as the rest of the right side of my head.

After the initial shock and residual pain had worn away, I sat down at my organ once more, my hands trembling as I held them above the keys. I didn't know why I hesitated so; my music had always brought me solace. In a world that scorned me for my horrid outer appearance, I had always been able to turn to my music. So why was I so afraid to try it now?

Very slowly, I brought my hands down, coaxing an eery chord from the instrument. It echoed through my home and sent chills down my spine. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath before continuing, first playing a simple melody I hummed often. I didn't know quite what I had expected, but I was relieved when I found that it didn't sound any worse than it ever had. I had not lost my ability to recognize foul notes from the right ones.

I was only able to play for a very short time each day before my hands began to ache to the point that the pain caused me to cry out, but that time seemed to get longer with each passing day. If I continued as I intended, I was sure that I would soon be able to fill my days and nights with music once more.

The pain did nothing for my appetite, however, and I found it difficult to force myself to eat, regardless of the fact that I knew I needed to eat. The meager amounts of bread and weak soup I managed to force down my throat barely kept me looking as ghastly as I had when I finally managed to force myself out of bed. I didn't expect I would get much better by working until I passed out across the keys only to wake to the blaring notes my chest and shoulders would hit, but my world had been silent too long. I wanted to complete my opera before my hearing left me again, if it would.


	6. Chapter 6

**AN: This chapter took me a lot longer to complete than I thought it would. It's also shorter than I was expecting it to be. **

**Again, I really want to thank you, my readers, for both reading and reviewing this, my first real attempt at phanfic. I sincerely hope that you are enjoying reading it as much as I'm enjoying writing it.**

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Very slowly, I began to get better. The promise of hearing Christine's angelic voice again gave me reason to continue on, even when my work made me tired to the point of utter weakness. I worked and slept harder than I ever had before or ever will again, but I managed to finish my opera. With that finished, I paged through it, making absolutely certain that it was completed before I bound it and set it aside. Soon I would deliver it to those fools who ran my theater, who thought they had rid themselves of me purely because I had not sent them any instructions recently.

Despite my still-weakened state, I spent every night I could watching Christine. And every night, I grew increasingly angry at the involvement of that boy, the Viscomte, in her life. The fool, taking the spoils of all my hard work. The years of my tutelage had brought Christine's voice to the beauty it was now, and he swept in and stole her heart.

No matter. Erik would figure out a way. She would love me. Pitiful Erik would win her over.

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It was a week after I finished my opera that I finally had the opportunity to see Christine perform, but M. Andre and M. Firmin decided that they no longer needed to follow my instructions. Not only was my box occupied, it was occupied by them. What was worse, they had ignored my casting. _The fools!_ Watching their faces as La Carlotta croaked like a toad- though I failed to hear a difference between this and her usual singing- was almost as glorious as it was to see the horror in their eyes as Buquet's neck snapped at the end of my lasso.

But Christine- _Oh Christine,_ I thought as I registered the horror in her eyes. My heart ached for her. At least, it did until the Viscomte took her by the arm. I strained my ear to hear where they were going, and I beat them to the roof, where I hid behind one of the great statues for them, fully intending to swoop down and steal Christine away.

Before I could reveal myself however, the boy announced his undying love for her. Though this both amused and angered me, I waited to hear her response. The pain in Erik's chest was very real as she insisted that she loved the foolish boy, too. I watched them, horrorstruck, from where I hid, as they drew closer together. So close. Too close.

_Painfully_ close.

Their lips brushed against each other and I had seen enough. I turned away, sliding my back down the side of the statue that hid me until I was seated against the cold, snow-covered stone of the roof, my head in my hands. _It was all for nothing_. The thought hit me the same way the men at the circus had when I was still small and weak. I had poured my soul into getting better _for her_. I had written _her_ an opera. And this- I closed my eyes, covering my ears with my palms, trying so desperately to drown out their voices as tears welled in my eyes.

I sat there for a long, long time, my hands shaking as I fought the sobs that threatened to loose themselves from my chest. I imagined that, were there anyone there to hear me, I might've sounded like a wounded animal in need of mercy killing. Oh, poor pitiful Erik sure felt like a wounded animal.

Watching them had ripped open a great and terrible hole in my chest that made the agony of deafness pale in comparison. _"I gave you my music,_" I breathed, clenching my eyes shut tight. _"Made your song take wing and now, how you repay me… Deny me and betray me…" _I forced myself to my feet, the soles of my shoes slipping on the fluffy snow that had just begun to melt with the heat of my body. I staggered out from my hiding spot, both relieved and angry to find myself alone.

I'd done so much, all for _her_, all for the chance to see even the slightest glimmer of love in her eyes. She, the only thing I loved more than music. _How could she not see it? _

I knew how long before the thought crossed my mind. I'd taken too long. I'd been foolish. Rather than simply leading her down to my home, I had to try and impress her. I had to try and see her reaction to where I was leading her. _Stupid, stupid Erik_, I cursed myself, hitting myself in the temples. I could still hear them descending back into the opera house. They were _singing_. I hadn't realized it before, when they were there near me. I let out a pained whimper and fell to my knees in the snow, holding my ears again, silently begging them to stop.

Poor Erik couldn't take it. I clutched my chest, where I could feel as my heart broke- again? I hadn't thought there was anything left to break after I'd deafened myself. Had Erik really been so daft as to believe things could look up? Pitiful, foolish creature. How could I have ever thought she would love a hideous beast like me?

I pulled myself to my feet, a new emotion burning deep in my chest, below where my heart sputtered out its erratic tune as it fell to pieces. "_He was bound to love you when he heard you sing," _I whimpered.

I steeled myself, letting out a low, guttural moan. _"You will curse the day you did not do all that the Phantom asked of you!"_ I screamed as I stole back down the passageway from whence I had come. With one fluid motion, I cut down the chandelier, watched it crash elegantly down across the stage and first few rows of patrons, who applauded what had likely been a spirited performance by my angel.

The subsequent screams of pain and terror that filled my ears only served to fuel the madness that grew within me. As I stared down at them, at _her_, I smiled. The horrified expression plastered on her face was almost sweeter than her voice. I let out a laugh of pure joy as I watched the crowd of terrified patrons scramble for the exits.

My laughter was cut short, however, as her eyes found me. We stared at each other for a long moment, and in that moment I could feel her looking not just at me, but through me. I felt suddenly, horribly naked.

I hurried from the catwalk where I was perched. There would be other times, other horrified expressions. Let her have her precious viscomte. In the end, I would have her, one way or another. They could all be certain of that.


	7. Chapter 7

The silence that hung over the Opera Populaire in the days following the incident with the chandelier was thick enough that you could cut it with a knife. As I watched people scurry about from the shadows it was hard not to laugh, and the moment that the first 'ha' escaped my throat, whoever was in the area nearby would freeze, glancing about as though they could discover where I hid.

It was particularly fun to scare M. Andre this way. I had the man afraid to walk even from his office to the main entrance. If I couldn't have Christine for myself, I preferred it this way. At least watching them tiptoe about gave me a minute amount of happiness. It was maddening however, that Christine had hidden herself away.

Since I'd loosed the chandelier on the crowd, since she'd gazed up at me with such fright in her eyes, I had not seen her. I had heard her, however. Even in the moments when my soul was at its blackest, her voice called to me. The viscomte had not been around to see her since that night, either. In fact, the two things I was most certain of were that she was somewhere in my opera house, and he was _not_.

The very thought that I had frightened her would-be lover away by merely showing what I was capable of brought a twisted caricature of a smile to my bloated lips. I remained out among the fools who rushed to clean up the mess I'd created for them until I learned what they were planning next. M. Firmin and M. Andre still planned to go forth with the New Year's Masque, something I was so certain they would forgo, what with so many injured and one still missing following my attack, but the news was music to my ears.

I would reveal myself to them next at the Masque, and that is when I would make my next- and possibly final- demands of these fools who found it so amusing to disobey me. Soon they would know the true consequences of their disobedience.


	8. Chapter 8

As I pulled together my costume for the masquerade, my hearing completely left me again, which was just as well. There was nothing for me to listen to, save for a few angry beatings my organ had to put up with as I worked to keep my cool. I wanted nothing so badly as to find the Viscomte de Chagny and string him up in much the same fashion that I had Buquet, but I knew that what I had planned for the boy- should he interfere- would be far more satisfying.

I kept a low profile in the weeks leading up to the event, going up to the surface only if it was utterly necessary. I didn't want to ruin whatever false sense of security they all might be beginning to have. But at the same time, I was growing ever more desperate to see Christine. I wanted to see the fear in her eyes again. Even thinking of it made my pulse quicken. I began to long for her the same way an opium addict longed for his next fix.

A week before the party, I stole away to the surface to deliver a note to Madame Giry, who would, in turn, deliver it to Christine. It begged her audience on the roof, where my heart had broken, where she had driven me to the madness that now consumed my soul. In the note, I instructed her to come _alone_, that her angel commanded her full attention for just one night more. It didn't matter to me that I wouldn't be able to hear her, in fact it was probably for the better.

For I knew that anything she could possibly say would only serve to unravel what little sanity I could still cling to. Still, I had to see her. Handing that note to Giry was the most masochistic thing I had ever done. Even more so than staying on the roof and listening to Christine and the viscomte had been. I waited in the darkness, just beyond where any of them normally dared go, while my message was delivered.

Madame Giry came back far sooner than I anticipated. An awkward few moments of silence passed before I managed to croak out, "Will she come?" She nodded once. "Thank you."

I returned to my home as quickly as I could to fetch my cape and hat. I wrote for her to expect me at nightfall, but I would wait up there, just out of sight, until I was certain that she would come alone, that she wouldn't send someone ahead of her or worse. Her foppish lover seemed the type to send a protective detail. If he enjoyed his life, he wouldn't. If she valued his life, she wouldn't tell him.

Yet I secretly hoped that she would. I would so enjoy putting an end to his life. I had imagined it countless times since witnessing him kissing the lips that should have been _mine_ to kiss. Even remembering that it had happened was enough to bring my blood to a boil. I very nearly snapped my oar in half as I made my way across the lake to my home.

I feasted on a chunk of bread that was just beginning to mold as I decided precisely what I would wear. Normally, I would've tossed the food out, but my pants and jacket still didn't fit me quite right again. I was beginning to fear that it would be a permanent change. It didn't bother _me_ particularly, but I feared that Christine would be frightened by how sharp my exposed features now were. The cool porcelain of my mask felt heavy and awkward against my cheekbone; I hadn't realized what cushion my flesh had given me before.

I hoped she wouldn't find me too ghastly.

I put on my cape and my hat, checking my reflection in the mirror one last time. The shadow from the brim of my hat would help to mask the stretched-too-tight skin of my face. I managed to convince myself that she wouldn't notice, perhaps she'd even forgotten what her angel looked like, before I finally pulled myself away from the mirror. There was nothing more I could do but hope.

I scoped out the roof carefully before deeming it safe to show myself. The sun was beginning to set over Paris, a sight I had seen the end of a handful of times when I had misjudged the time, but the brightness of its earlier stages burned my eyes, and I found myself having to retreat down the stairs I'd come up as I waited for the sun to duck beyond the horizon so that I could stand exposed again.

The colors that the sunset splashed across the statues that adorned the roof of the opera house were awe-inspiring. Even as mad with jealousy as I was, I could enjoy the simple beauty of it.

As I climbed from my hiding place, I was allowed to enjoy an even more beautiful sight. Christine was coming up opposite me, though she seemed not to notice me. She also seemed to be alone. _So_, I thought, _she still trusts her angel._ I smiled a small, sly smile as I ducked behind one of the statues, but thankfully not the one I'd sought cover behind on _that_ particular night. I adjusted my mask and swallowed hard, and for the second time since my foolish mistake that had crippled me, horrible pain shot through my head.

This time it was not localized to either side, but rather seemed to start directly in the center of my skull. I could not disguise the noise I made as anything but a moan of pain as I sank to my knees. But what happened next caused me to completely forget the pain.

"Angel? Is that my angel?" Christine asked. Her voice was so loud! I clasped my hands over my ears, wincing against the volume, before I realized that I was hearing again. I was able to hear her, and not in the same limited way I had been before.

What had I done? Would it be permanent? I couldn't be sure. I decided to make the most of it while I could hear.

"Foolish child, you have not been practicing as I've instructed you to," I said, my words harsher than I intended, but they bore my full anguish. I peered around the statue I was hidden behind. She looked so sad. I immediately felt like the worst person in all of Paris. Twas I who caused her pain, who caused her fear. Her eyes were brimming with tears already. What a fool her Erik was to treat her so harshly. She did not know what she did wrong. How could she?

"Why have you abandoned me, my angel?" she asked, trying to catch a good look at me where I hid, "I've been trying my best, it's hard to keep up my lessons when my great tutor has left me." Her voice cracked as she tried to explain herself.

"Calm yourself, Christine," I purred, "Your angel is not angry with you, merely saddened. You've the ability to sing beautifully if only you keep up with you practice. If you ever hope to outshine Carlotta-"

"But what if I don't want to outshine La Carlotta? She's a horribly jealous woman," Christine demanded, relaxing noticeably at my comforting words. I couldn't help but grin as I finally stepped out from behind the statue, hesitating before taking a few cautious steps forward.

It was only then, as she finally got a proper look at me, that the fear I had been so looking forward to seeing in her eyes again revealed itself. "You- It _was_ you who cut down the chandelier!" she gasped, her hands flying to her mouth as she stepped backwards and away from me. I held a hand out instinctively, remembering what had happened the last time I'd done such a thing. Thankfully, she was lighter on her feet and the walkway here was far smoother.

"You have nothing to fear in me, Christine," I assured her, but I could not wipe the self-satisfied smirk from my lips. "Everything I have done thus far has been to further your career."

"You very nearly killed me!" she cried in protest, shaking her head, "Had I been closer to the edge of the stage-" She seemed unable to finish her thought as tears streamed down her face. "Why have you brought me here?" she demanded.

"I merely owed you an explanation for my absence," I replied, keeping my voice even, my words soothing, even as I felt the fire within me burning hotter and brighter with each passing moment. Before I realized what I was doing, I found myself crossing the roof to meet her, catching her by the wrist as she tried to turn and run.

"Please, let me go," she begged, her eyes wide with fear that surpassed even the terror I had seen that night.

"You've no reason to be frightened of me," I reminded her, my calm words and steady voice a stark contrast to my actions, "I am your angel of music."

"Please, angel," she pleaded, but her pleas and struggles only caused me to tighten my grip.

"I've been unwell," I continued, ignoring her. "For the longest time, I was too weak to visit you. As you can see, I am feeling much better." In her eyes I could see my own reflected, could see them flash with an intense anger. I wished that her precious viscomte would come and find us in such a compromising situation. What little of me was still human enough to feel sorry for her compelled me to let her go, and she was sent stumbling back a few steps before she fell to her knees, sobbing into her hands.

Perhaps I had been too hard on her. For a moment- just a moment- I questioned myself. I worried that I would drive her away, but she had to understand. I couldn't let her go. I couldn't share her with the viscomte. She was mine and mine alone. "You will break off your contact with the Viscomte de Chagny," I said after giving my words careful thought, "and you will return to my tutelage."

"What?" she asked, her voice tiny and frightened. I could see all the words she wouldn't dare speak in her eyes.

"Did you think I wouldn't find out about your little love affair?" I asked simply. "Come now, Christine, give me some credit. I've known everything about you since you came to study ballet as a young girl."

"You frighten me so," she said, "nobody was supposed to know about that."

"It should not have happened in the first place," I snapped, "Your focus should be on your art, not on some _boy_."

"But he loves me," she whispered. I closed my eyes and sighed. "And I love him."

Her words were the final straw. I felt the small pocket of humanity to which I had so desperately clung slip away, leaving nothing but the snarling animal she all but insisted I become.

"Either you break it off with him, or a tragedy beyond your imagination will occur," I roared, "Those are your choices. Should you decide to continue under my tutelage, send word through Madame Giry." I let one last animalistic sound escape my throat as I twirled around on my heel and fled back down into the opera house, leaving a stunned Christine sitting in the snow, crying softly after me.

She would implore me to not make her choose. She would claim it was an impossible choice, to leave her precious fop in order to save his life. True, she didn't know that was my plan- to kill him if she chose him- but that was half the fun of it. She would surely invent all these horrible things that might happen. I was sure to win.

She would be mine.


	9. Chapter 9

Even knowing that I didn't have my entire plan in place, I spent the rest of the night and much of the following day revisiting my opera, playing it over and over on my organ, letting my music surround me. For the first time in a long time, I felt quite whole. It was as though some unseen and benevolent God had finally taken pity on Erik.

Once I had played through my entire opera no fewer than five times, I rested my aching hands for a short time and just relishing the ambient noise of my subterranean home on the lake. The light dripping of water, the hiss and moan of wind through the tunnels. It was all so beautiful to me. How I had missed it all.

I was confident that I had put an end to the meddling of the viscomte. When I would next make an appearance, at the masquerade, I was sure I would see her there, alone, as I had instructed her. Madame Giry would have word from Christine for me within a few days, and the pesky fop would be out of the picture. And the greatest of all things, my hearing was back, and nearly as good as it had been before.

Soon, just a few more days and Christine would be mine. I would take her at the party. We would steal away from the crowd, be halfway back to my home before anybody realized her absence. Here I would keep her close by my side, where I could teach her my music, where I could teach her- perhaps- to love me. I would be so careful not to frighten the poor girl.

* * *

Days passed, but still Giry bore me no word from Christine. I had expected she would mourn the end of her relationship with the viscomte, truly no one could blame her for it. Still I liked to think she would've come back to me and my music seeking comfort. _So where is she?_ I demanded of myself. She had not been seen since meeting me on the roof that night, though Giry assured me she was still in the opera house and that the viscomte had not been around since late in the evening of the night I'd told Christine to stop leading the boy along.

I couldn't contain the grin that spread across my face when Giry told me that he left looking quite distraught, as though Christine had told him some awful news. "But he didn't speak a word to you or MM. Firmin or Andre?"

She shook her head. "No, not a single word. Miss Daae sent for him shortly after her meeting with you, he arrived to her room nearly immediately. They spoke for almost an hour, it sounded almost like an argument- perhaps a lovers' quarrel?" she offered. I was not amused, and I shook my head slightly, urging her to get on with it. She cleared her throat and continued, "I had come to check on her and I could hear them arguing. Before I could knock on the door, I heard something smash against the floor and the viscomte stormed out, looking quite frustrated. Miss Daae would tell me nothing.

"She has taken her meals there since, and she has not come out even for rehearsals."

"Thank you, Madame Giry," I whispered, pressing a small stack of coins into her hand before I disappeared into the shadows once more. _So_, I thought, relieve, _she merely needs more time to come to terms with her little break up. No matter. Her heart will heal and when it does it shall truly belong to me_.

The remaining days that separated me from the party were spent trying to coax my hands into a less gnarled, immobile, aching mess than they were. I did everything I could think of, save ignoring my muse and resting them. My right hand seemed to be permanently fixed into a stiff claw wrought with pain whenever I so much as breathed upon the skin. No matter how I tried, even by pressing my palm against the wall or the floor I couldn't straighten the fingers but merely bend them back until the pain was too unbearable to continue.

No matter. I would still be able to command the respect I deserved, the respect my _music _deserved.


	10. Chapter 10

I stood back away from the mirror, carefully inspecting my costume from every angle I could before deciding that it was perfect. Nobody and everybody would know who I was. They would all see me, and they would all try to ignore me. Yes, as the Red Death I was quite intimidating, even if I did say so myself.

I opened and closed my mouth, testing the way I'd fastened the bottom jaw of my new mask, which took the form of a skull. It moved fluidly, but it made me look almost like a puppet. I rather liked this feature. It made me seem less like an ordinary man and more like the phantom they perceived me to be.

Perhaps I was more monster than man. Perhaps there was something to their fear. But it was their own fault, making me this way. The men at the circus who would beat me into submission, the children who would laugh and point as I cried for help. Many of those children grew up and were now patrons of my opera house. They may not remember the poor, deformed creature they laughed at the circus, but Erik sure remembered them.

Erik never forgot a face. If he got a good look at a person, they were forever engrained in Erik's memory. Every show of kindness, every attempt at dominance- it was all etched forever in my mind.

I took the score for my opera- which I'd wrapped in the same red leather that made my pants and boots- and loaded it into my boat. If I was timing it right, I would arrive fashionably late to the party. I could have a quick word with Firman and Andre and then turn my full attention to the only one of them who truly deserved it.

There was a strange, unfamiliar fluttering in my chest when I thought of seeing Christine that night. It was not entirely unpleasant. Every part of me seemed to ache for her, I longed to see her, to touch her…

I shook my head, steeling my nerve. First, I had to strike fear into the hearts of a few men. I wondered absently if the viscomte would show. If he knew what was good for him, he would let Christine walk in peace. He had no claim on her, rightfully he never had. If Christine had a rightful owner, it was music. _My_ music. And if she wanted to continue to be able to lose herself in _my_ music, she would have to realize that I was her only option.

I would get her to love me.

I strode confidently up a long and winding staircase that would lead me to one of the countless false walls in the opera house. The one I was making my way to would bring me right to the top of the stairs, just behind where everyone would be gathered. Once my presence was known, all eyes would be drawn to me.

I paused just as I reached the false wall. Just beyond it, I could hear the light-hearted and joyous din of the crowd gathered to celebrate. I chuckled nervously as I straightened my hat one last time and steadied my hands, which had begun shaking harder than they had when last I'd seen Christine, when I'd had the audacity to touch her.

I took a deep, shaky breath and slid away the false wall so I could step out into the light.


	11. Chapter 11

At first, the only one who seemed aware of my presence was Christine, who had grown very, very still upon my entrance. Her back was still to me, but I could feel how her body was aware of my every movement. I walked slowly, head up, to the edge of the top of the stairs, and looked down on them all.

Though Christine was the first to notice me, the first to turn and acknowledge me was the viscomte, who had been dancing too close to Christine for my liking. He would have been wise to simply stay away from her.

I was willing to forgive him for it however, until Christine turned and clung to his side, staring up at me like I was a dangerous wild animal about to pounce. The anger I felt toward the foolish boy consumed me then. I vowed to make his life a living hell so long as he walked on the earth.

_"Why so silent, good messieurs?" _I asked, slowly pacing down the stairs, glaring intensely around the room without turning my head. My eyes met with fear in every face they found. _Perfect_, I thought, _let them fear me_. Perhaps finally they would manage to prove that they were capable of following simple orders. _"Did you think that I had left you for good? Have you missed me, good messieurs?" _ I continued, turning my attention to MM. Firman and Andre, whose faces had drained of all color beneath the colorful masks that hid their eyes.

_"I have written you an opera," _I said, coming to a stop just a few steps above them. I brandished the bundle that held my opera. _"Here I bring the finished score: _Don Juan Triumphant!"I casually tossed it to their feet, daring them to pick it up with my eyes.

_"I advise you to comply, my instructions should be clear. Remember: there are worse things than a shattered chandelier!_" I finished, and I turned away from them, looking directly into Christine's eyes as she cowered against her precious little fop.

"And you," I continued, no longer working from my prepared words. No, what I was about to tell miss Daae was entirely unscripted. "You deceitful little temptress," I hissed, "are coming with me."

The viscomte made to step between us, but I had her by the wrist- and partially by the hair, which was just as well. I hoped the pain would bring her to her senses as I tore her from her lover. I felt positively ill to even _think _that word in relation to the fop, though I was pleased when I saw the flash of anger in his eyes as he cried, "No! Bitter fiend, release her!"

"Raoul I'm frightened!" Christine cried as I pulled her up the stairs with me. I pulled her around so I could wrap my arm around her waist and be certain that she couldn't get away as I turned to address the viscomte once more.

"Make no further attempts to see miss Daae," I spat, "If you value your life- or hers." There was a collective gasp as we disappeared through the false wall. I locked and barred it, making certain nobody could follow us this way. Christine screamed for them to help her as I dragged her along through the darkness.

"Cry all you want," I told her, trying to disguise the pain in my voice, "They'll never find you, not unless I allow it. No, I've the run of things down here, it's a maze of tunnels _he'll_ be lost in for days, if he doesn't fall victim to one of my traps."

"How can you do this?" she demanded shrilly.

We came to the end of the tunnel, to the shore of the lake where I had left my boat. I threw her rather roughly into the boat and climbed in after her, pushing away from the cracked stone of the cavern floor before she could climb back out. "It would be in your best interest to stop resisting," I told her, "It's the only way you'll be allowed to return to them."

"You horrid man, you're no angel of music," she cried, pulling at my cape and pleading with her eyes. I shook her away and continued rowing the tiny boat across the lake.

"Perhaps it would be best if you remained _silent_, Christine," I hissed. My heart was racing as I leaned down to stare directly into her eyes. She was so close. It would've been nothing to lean in and kiss her- but no, even as angry as Erik was he couldn't do such a thing. Though he may be a murderer, Erik did have _some_ decency. There were some things I just couldn't take by fear.

We reached my home and I took her arm again, dragging her inside. "Welcome to my home- pardon me, _our_ home," I said as I pulled her into the bedroom.

"Please just let me go," Christine begged me, but I pulled her along, determined to give her a tour. She would have to become familiar with this place soon enough, it would be the only place she was allowed until she performed on opening night.

"I told you precisely what you had to do, Christine," I told her as I dragged her back out to where I had composed my opera. I let her go just beside my organ and I sat to play. "You disobeyed my orders. You are not to see the Viscomte de Chagny again. It is all that your angel commands and yet you have chosen to disobey me. Now you will not be allowed to be free. Your days and your nights will be spent here, with me."

"You're mad," she said, backing away from me. I chuckled, allowing the lighthearted sound to echo across the lake.

"If I am, it is only because _you have made me this way_," I said, snarling the latter half of the statement. She gasped and stumbled back another few steps, that beautiful fear in her eyes once more. "Should you try to leave me, I will kill the viscomte before your very eyes."

"You can't!" she shrieked, "Please, anything but that!"

"Then you are to stay here, with me!" I roared in reply, standing and taking her by the wrist, pulling her closer to me. The way she struggled caused me to tense up in spite of myself. As badly as I wanted her, as I wanted to feel her body against mine… I could not ignore how wrong it felt to take her unwillingly.

I touched her cheek with a shaky hand, and she looked away from me, jerking away from my touch. I grunted in frustration and let her go. "You're free to explore our home, but the boat- and the lake- are off limits. Remember, his life depends on you remaining here."

I sat back down at my organ and began to pound out the overture to my opera as she fell to her knees and wept.


	12. Chapter 12

That first night I watched her as she slept, listening uneasily to the frustrated shouts I could hear from the viscomte's little search party as they tried to discover where I had taken the girl. It wasn't until it was nearly dawn and she had finally stopped waking up every so often to sob the viscomte's accursed name that I completed the project I worked on and deemed it safe enough to remove my costume from the masque and retreat into my old familiar clothing. The cool, damp air of my home felt good against my temporarily bare disfigurement, but I couldn't relish in the feeling for too long.

Were Christine to rouse while I was unmasked, I was certain I would lose her completely. I would have to tread delicately around her until she finally began to see things my way. Perhaps, were she obedient that day, I would offer to bring her to see her father's grave. Small but powerful acts like that were sure to help me win her over.

I stole away across the lake while she slept, making certain to keep my movements as quiet as possible so as not to wake her. I hoped to return having completed my errands long before she stirred. I first had a series of notes to set up for delivery, including three that Madame Giry would have to hand out for me.

I also had to see a boy about fetching a short list of supplies for Christine and I. Simply because she was to remain below ground with me did not mean I was going to deprive her of the finer things in life. The boy met me where he always had, just beyond the entrance to the sewers, and took my money and list, nodding when I made him promise to make haste. He would deliver my things within a few hours.

I was relieved when I returned home to find Christine was still sleeping. It alarmed me how tense she looked, though I had deemed it normal during the night. She was still adjusting. It would take her some time to learn to live a life like mine, a life in the shadows, in permanent nighttime.

She seemed to be shivering despite the blankets that already covered her, so I removed my cape and covered her with that, too. My hand hovered near her face for a long moment before I very gently caressed her cheek with the backs of my fingers. She seemed to relax a bit at my touch, which in turn caused me to tense up. _Does she realize where she is?_ I wondered. _Does she know of the foul beast who dares touch her perfect face?_

I hesitated before I pulled away from her, not wanting to disturb her slumber any more than I already had. Surely she wouldn't approve of Erik touching her while she slept, while she could not protest.

I returned to my organ and played a few careful notes that had the ability to send me into a blind rage, yet I remained exquisitely calm. The melody which I played bore a striking resemblance to that which Christine had sung to the viscomte while I cowered behind my statue, too heartbroken to move. If only the foolish girl could understand how she hurts Erik, how she tortures him. Perhaps then she would understand why I can't let her go.


	13. Chapter 13

"Christine, I understand that it is a lot to take in all at once, but you really must understand that we have a schedule we must keep if you are to sing in my opera," I said, having tried everything else I could think of already to coax her from bed. I didn't want her to feel that I was pushing her to be in better spirits, but I couldn't help but wish that she would cheer up.

"I want no part in your opera," she whimpered, her voice shaking with both sadness and anger. I frowned severely.

"That is not for you to decide," I said, fighting to maintain my composure. My hard work would be for nothing if she played no part in the finished product.

Finally it seemed I had said the right combination of words to get a rise out of her. She sat up and turned to face me, glaring at me with an intensity the likes of which I'd never seen before. "You've no right to tell me what roles I must or mustn't accept," she growled. She _growled._ I couldn't believe my ears.

"Christine, you would be a fool to-"

"No," she spat the word at me as she stood up, straightening her dress as she did so. "You would be a fool to think that I would go along with any of this! You act as though- as though I'm your _property!_ I am not a piece of furniture, Angel!" The sound of her name for me the way she said it made my blood run cold. It almost seemed that time had slowed down. All at once I felt angry and embarrassed. How could she think that of her angel? I only wanted to treat her to the finest things and to keep her happy and singing for me.

Still I knew if I tried to make her happy, she would merely have me making concessions until she could sneak away to the surface and to her precious viscomte, who no doubt was busy plotting my demise while I stood arguing with Christine. The way she was looking at me made me almost certain she, too, was planning a way to bring my life to an end. But Christine didn't have it in her to kill another.

I balled my left hand up into a fist and clenched my eyes tightly shut. "Fine," I stammered finally, "If that is your decision, then you shall never see the light of day again. All your remaining days shall be spent down here, alone with your angel as your only companion."

The shock and sadness that overtook her face was too much for me to bear to watch, and so I closed my eyes again and I turned away, retreating to my organ.

I smashed a few angry chords out before I simply began to hit the keys with my fists, great sobs building up in my chest. I didn't want to cry, not with Christine so nearby. The last thing she needed to see was Erik blubbering like a child, begging for her forgiveness and her love. It was only by chance that I managed to hear the heavy splash as Christine fell into the lake, tipping my boat just too far to one side for her to hold her balance.

How had she managed to sneak past me? Had I really been that intently focused on the tantrum I was throwing?

And why wasn't she coming up for air?


	14. Chapter 14

I realized within moments what had happened, and I recognized that I had precious little time to waste as I whipped off my jacket, launching it across the room before I dove into the murky water of the lake. With a few strong kicks, I managed to get down The way she thrashed and kicked made it difficult for me to get a proper hold on her, but I managed to wrap my right arm around her waist. I was amazed to feel how heavy she was. No wonder she hadn't come up.

The fabric of her dress weighed at least twice what she did. I cursed myself once more as my lungs burned in my chest, the surface of the water just out of my reach. _Kick, damn you!_ I cursed silently, _can't you see I'm not strong enough to do this on my own? You've got to help me help you, Christine!_

I could break the surface with my hand, that was how close we were when I felt my body begin to give. Christine seemed to have already given up, her thrashing and kicking slowed drastically. I tore my mask off in a last ditch effort to pull us to the surface, using it like an oar to propel us along.

It worked. The flat of the mask gave me just enough resistance push my face out of the water. I scrambled to fix the mask to my face once again as I kicked for the edge of my home. Christine was dead weight against my arm, I tried to keep her head above water until I could push her up onto the cool stone floor. "Oh Christine," I moaned as I struggled to pull her up, "Why couldn't you just listen to me? Why?"

I scrambled to pull myself up after her, and thought I was coughing and gasping to catch my breath yet, my greatest concern was whether Christine would survive. When I checked her, she was not breathing. I could not bear to touch her lips with my own, but I had no other option to try and save her. With shaking hands I tilted her head back and pinched shut her nose, pressing my lips to her own and blowing.

_Please don't let me have gotten to her too late!_ I silently pleaded as I tried to save her. As my attempts became more frantic, more pleading, she finally showed some signs of life. The first of which was to cough up a lungful of water. This was immediately followed by panicky, pained wails that escaped her lips as she sat bolt upright, clinging to me. I froze, taken aback by the sudden contact. It took me longer than it probably should have to raise my arms and clasp them tightly around Christine's body in a gesture that I hoped was comforting.

"You saved me," she rasped as she calmed down, pulling away from me after a long, tender embrace. I stared at her, eyes wide, as she looked at me with such gratitude. She leaned forward once more, but this time my breath caught in my throat as I realized she was reaching for my mask. I tried to pull away, but she had it in her hand before I could do anything.


	15. Chapter 15

My hand instinctively flew to my face, but only met her hand. I realized that she hadn't pulled my mask away but merely shifted it so that it settled properly against my face. She'd fixed it for me. "Oh Christine," I breathed, finally allowing myself to breathe again. I had been spared once more to my great amazement. I stared at her, in awe, as she pressed her hand firmly against my mask, slowly dragging her palm down my face and letting it fall back to her lap.

"I'm sorry," she said, her voice a hoarse whisper, "I didn't mean to frighten you, but I didn't think you meant for me to see that much of your face." A pitiful moan escaped my lips. So she _had_ seen. She knew what an accursed monster Erik was. I looked away from her.

"Erik is sorry that you had to see that," I said after I gave my words some thought. "He knows he is an abomination. Even his own mother could not look upon him." I had to fight not to choke on my last sentence, and from the corner of my eye I could see her hands tense. It had gotten to her, too.

"I- I denied you, I disobeyed you," she stammered, "And yet you still saved me."

I stole a single glance at her face; I saw no fear in her eyes. Sighing, I replied, "Erik could not bear to see you die in such a way."

"Why do you keep talking like that?" she asked. After a moment, when I didn't immediately answer, she added, "Is that your name? Erik?" I nodded. "Would you prefer that I call you Erik?"

"Christine Daae, you may call Erik whatsoever you wish and he will learn to go by it," I said earnestly, "I am your willing slave if only you'll stay here with me."

She took my hand in her own, lightly outlining the bones of my fingers with her thumb. "Erik," she said, her voice tinged with sadness. I refused to look at her. I knew what she was going to say. She couldn't stay down there with me. "What kind of life have you known? So desperate for human contact, so sad and alone…"

"Please, don't," I begged her, "Consider my offer, I will treat you as a princess forever, everything I have can be yours, simply name something and I will get it for you. Can your precious viscomte offer the same?" This time my voice did crack. I felt her tremble at the sound.

"I will stay," she murmured after a long silence. My gaze shot to her face, and she was looking at me expectantly. I felt a horrible pang of guilt when I met her eyes. This wasn't what she wanted. It was only pity that made her willing to stay with Erik. Pity and perhaps a feeling that she owed her life to me.

The smile she was trying so hard to pass as sincere never reached her eyes. "Erik will do his very best to make your life comfortable." She nodded, and she looked away from me. "Perhaps-" It was a foolish idea, one she would never agree to go along with. I couldn't bring myself to even say it.

"Perhaps what?" she asked.

"Never mind," I said too quickly, looking away as she tried to catch my eye again, "It was foolish to even think. Forgive me, please." As she opened her mouth to protest, I stood up and leaned in to help her up as well. "We really should get you out of those wet clothes. You'll catch your death."


	16. Chapter 16

Once we both had changed into dry clothing, I made a simple supper for us, hoping that my meager cooking skills would allow me to create passable meals for my beloved. She offered no protest when I set her plate before her, rather she ate hungrily, like a starved dog that's just been given a few meager table scraps. My heart was buffeted with even more guilt and pain. I'd spirited her away to my home and deprived her of food without meaning to.

It was going to take some getting used to, having another human to care for, someone sharing my space who needed things like food and sleep. Things I went without more often than not..

I still held onto hope that she would grow to love me, that she would decide to stay with me, in the end. Though were I to be honest with myself, I knew she would run the moment she saw a chance. And should she try, should she change her mind and decide to perform in my opera… I wouldn't stop her. At least I would have the time spent preparing her for the role to cherish for whatever days remained ahead of me in this life.

After we had both finished eating, she retired to the bedroom, where she curled up and fell asleep almost immediately. I found myself longing to lie down beside her- not to touch her, only to be near her. I didn't want to frighten her, however, and it would be most improper for the two of us to share a bed. I stood at the edge of the lake for a long time, listening to Christine snoring softly behind me, before I finally stripped down to just my pants and my mask and I slipped into the murky water once more to go and flip my boat and guide it back to my home.

I had to give Christine some credit. She had made it nearly a quarter of the way across before she'd lost her balance. I had no doubt she probably could've succeeded if her dress hadn't been quite so bulky. That had surely been her downfall.

I would have to procure a new oar. There was no telling where the one she'd been using had rolled, and I wasn't a strong enough swimmer to scour the bottom of the lake for it. But at least the boat was undamaged. Perhaps in a few days I could steal away and leave Christine alone so I could perhaps go and fetch her some chocolates and perhaps a pretty new dress as well as a few necessities I'd been neglecting in preparation for my plan. I'd thought of nothing but taking her as my own for weeks, and now that I had her, I was realizing it wasn't going to be easy to keep her.

I would have to check on the progress of my opera as well, though I was certain that would be more of a feat than the rest of my errands. The viscomte- and my bumbling managers- no doubt had a detail searching for me day and night. Slipping in to observe would be more difficult than before, but not impossible. They would never catch me.

Once my boat was pulled ashore and I was once again out of the water and working to dry myself off, I finally allowed myself to lower my guard. If we were to expect any unwanted guests, we would hear them splashing long before they were a threat, and I could dispatch with them accordingly.

I found it difficult to justify even occupying the same room as her while she slept, it felt an awful violation of her privacy, but the bedroom retained heat far better than the front room or the kitchen, and so I made a bed out of a few cushions and a bolt of red velvet and I covered myself with my cape. I would wake long before she did, anyway. She would have no knowledge of my imposing presence while she slept.


	17. Chapter 17

**AN: Hi everyone, just wanted to express my continuing gratitude for so many views! This is all so surreal to me. Thank you!**

**And to the kind guest who was confused about Erik's first person/third person switches, I borrowed the 3rd person stuff from the book canon but I switch between that and just first person to show his mental instability. I can understand where it would get a bit confusing though.**

* * *

I spent the morning playing my favorite piece from my opera, hoping that perhaps Christine would hear it and want to sing for me. Even if she didn't, I at least had my music to calm and soothe me.

As I began to play it for a second time, I heard her walk out from the bedroom, stopping just behind where I sat, obviously entranced by the music I played for her. _All for her_, I thought. I wished I could simply tell her that she was my muse, but I was so afraid of cementing the fear that still existed in her eyes whenever she happened to glance at me. As she stood and listened, I could tell that she was entranced by my music. The thought that I could still ensnare her mind with a few well placed musical notes made my confidence swell.

I sang a few lines, waiting to see if she showed any interest in joining me, but she didn't. Still, it was nice to command an audience, even if it was only Christine. _Only Christine,_ the thought made me laugh. There was nothing _only_ about her. I continued to sing, playing a little more forcefully, allowing myself to make minor mistakes in the name of a more passionate sound. When the piece was done, I sat there, unmoving, for a long moment before stealing a glance over my shoulder.

Christine stared at me, wide eyed. She had a shy smile on her face. She looked quite impressed with my music. I couldn't help but feel a bit smug about that.

"That was beautiful," she breathed. Her voice sounded a bit better today, now that she'd had some rest after nearly drowning. I smiled.

"From my opera," I replied. _I wrote it for you_, I thought, but I did not dare say the words aloud. Her eyes sparkled at the mention of my opera. Perhaps she had merely been frightened the day before. Perhaps she'd only said she wouldn't sing for me to spite me. I would have to try and sway her one way or the other…

When I returned from the surface, I would have to convince her to either sing in my opera or to follow through with the plan I could not even bring myself to mention in front of her. Surely she would choose that which gave her a chance at escaping and living a normal life. She would want nothing to do with her angel of music.

"Can you play another?" she asked, slowly waking from the daze my music had put her in. I shook my head, a sad smile on my lips.

"Not right now, for I must go away and leave you for a short while. Don't worry, though, I shall make haste to return to you, my Christine," I said as I stood and turned to face her. She looked quite disappointed, perhaps even a bit frightened at the idea of having to spend any time alone. I didn't have the heart to tell her that I came and went as I pleased while she slept. Something told me that would've brought her to hysterics.

"Must you go?" Her voice was shrill, I could tell she was near crying. I nodded.

"I promise, it will hardly be as though I ever left. Perhaps if you feel up to it, you could sing to pass the time. It would bring me great joy to hear your voice echoing through my tunnels as I return to you," I offered. She nodded.

"I shall sing until you return to me, Erik," she agreed. I took her hand and lightly pressed my lips to it, hoping that I had not overstepped my boundaries by doing so. She didn't seem to mind.

I gathered my cape and my hat, just my simple wide-brimmed fedora this time, and made for the only tunnel that connected directly to my home. I did not like using it because it went straight through the sewer, but without any real ability to use my boat, it was my best option should I not wish to swim.

"Please, listen to me when I say you should not follow me through here, Christine," I warned her before I revealed the tunnel's secret entrance, "It goes straight through the sewer and it winds and turns for miles. If you don't have someone leading you along, you could become lost forever."

She nodded, "I understand. I will stay here and wait for you."


	18. Chapter 18

I should've realized something was off when Madame Giry wasn't where I chose to meet her. I should've gone back into hiding and chosen another day to steal away and get things done. But no, I had to be a fool who believed himself impossible to catch. I stepped completely out of the tunnel, closing up the false wall behind myself as I scurried down the hall. _Perhaps I've misjudged where I was to be met,_ I thought.

Before I could open my mouth to call for Madame Giry, I heard heavy footfalls surrounding me on all sides, followed by a thick, heavy rope being looped over my head. I couldn't breathe!

"Keep your hand at the level of your eyes, monsieur," a too-familiar voice laughed as I was pulled backward, as my arms were bound painfully behind me and I was dropped to my knees. It was Christine's precious fop. I growled at the man who stepped forward from the shadows, grinning down at me as though I were some great trophy he'd won.

"So, it takes a dozen or so odd men to take down a phantom. Here I would've thought it would be something you'd want to do yourself, monsieur le viscomte," I hissed, just before one of the man's boots made contact with the side of my face. It was not a particularly painful kick, though it did cause me to rock backwards because I wasn't expecting it. Considering the men who held me back, the ropes that already bound me, I would've thought the Viscomte de Chagny too afraid of getting his hands- or in this case, his boots- dirty to do anything on his own.

"Get him up," he ordered, "He will take us to Christine, _now._"

"Oh I will, will I?" I said with a laugh, "You're certainly confident in your abilities to force me to do what you want."

"You will take us to Christine, or I will kill you where you stand."

"You will? Or your legions of servants here to see a pitiful wretch of a man executed for fun? Remember, monsieur, I am the one who knows how to navigate the sewers, I am the only one who knows where your precious Christine is. You kill me, you'll never see her again," I said, working to keep the creeping anger from making an appearance anywhere but in my eyes.

"Move, Phantom." The noose that kept tightening around my neck was pulled taut, causing my vision to go completely white as I was pushed forward. I was led stumbling out of the opera house, into the blinding streets of Paris in the daytime. I was very nearly thrown into a carriage, stumbling and winding up sitting in a most uncomfortable fashion on the floor near where the viscomte's feet were soon enough. I was shocked that the man was such a fool as to allow himself to be alone in a carriage with me. Sure, my hands were bound and he held the end of a rope that had my neck, but even he knew what I was capable of.

"If you will not tell me where Christine is, I shall see that your life is made to be hell," the viscomte said as we began to move. He punctuated his declaration by jabbing me in the ribs with his foot.

"Because it is a wise decision to leave her in the catacombs, alone," I replied with a wince. It seemed he could kick harder while seated, though perhaps he hadn't kicked me as hard before because he didn't want to break my neck the first thing he did.

"She will not be alone for long. My men will find their way into the tunnels you've been using. Christine will be found and recovered for me. And you will never see her again, mark my words."

"Without my help, nor will you," I said. This little outburst was paid for with a great amount of pain as he pulled the rope ever tighter around my neck. I gasped and struggled against him as he pulled me closer than I wanted to be to any part of him. He let go of the rope, grabbing me now by my throat with his bare hand. Had I the breath, I would've made a clever barb about him being unafraid to touch me. As it stood, I gasped and coughed in his face.

"If you ever even cared a little for Christine you will tell me where she is," he growled, anger in his eyes flaring along with his nostrils. It was hard not to laugh in his face. He truly thought he had the ability to frighten me.

"If you ever cared even a little for Christine," I replied, fighting to catch a breath against his steadily tightening grip, "You would not cause any harm to me. She waits patiently for my return as we speak. Imagine the terror and loneliness she must feel, left alone down in the deep dark of my own personal hell."

"A situation she wouldn't be in if not for your little stunt at the masquerade. You just couldn't stand to see her happy, could you?" the viscomte growled, "You just had to make her your own. It didn't matter who else you hurt in the process, just as long as you've got what you want."

"Yes, good, take your anger out on my throat. The sooner you kill me, the sooner Christine can die, alone," I egged him on. His only reply was to throw me back and away from him, my head bouncing against the box in which we rode. The pain that radiated through my head was horrible, but at least I could breathe again.

It wasn't long before we stopped, and I found myself being dragged out of the carriage by the noose round my neck. I was sure that there was some irony to the situation I found myself in, but all I wanted at the time was to catch my footing for long enough that I could breathe properly.

Even when there was finally some slack in the rope, I found myself horribly disoriented. It was horribly bright out, the sun high in the cloudless sky. I had to keep my eyes clenched shut, and even then the light filtering though my eyelids was blinding.

The only thing that could've forced me to open my eyes was precisely what the viscomte did next.


	19. Chapter 19

The roughness with which he removed my mask and my wig reminded me of my time as part of the freak show with the circus. However, instead of being met with gasps of horror, I snapped my eyes open to find the viscomte staring intently at my disfigurement with a peculiar interest. I didn't have to wonder what he was about to do for long, when his knuckles connected with the exposed cheekbone of my now unmasked face. The pain was like none I'd experienced since escaping that godforsaken circus. I'd never imagined that a boy such as the viscomte could apply such force with his fists.

Even the torment of watching him with my Christine paled in comparison as he hit me again, this time digging his nails into the tender flesh of my now-exposed temple. "You foolish monster," he laughed, "You think Christine could love something so hideous as you?"

The sound of his laughter stirred up rage within me the likes of which I hadn't felt in years. I clenched my hands into fists and fought against the ropes that restrained me. More laughter. Oh how I wished he would stop laughing. How he would cry were the tables turned, and oh how they would be. Even if it took every ounce of my will, all of my strength and the rest of my life, I would have revenge on him for this. But more than I wanted the revenge, I wanted to see Christine again. So when he picked up a large stick, I closed my eyes again, bracing for what would come next.

The wood was thick and heavy, but his first blow was softened by how sodden the stick was. It was warm enough that day for the snow to begin to thaw, and it very probably saved me from being knocked unconscious in the first few blows, which I took the full force of directly to my disfigured head.

"Such an ugly creature, who were you trying to kid? How could someone like Christine ever love someone such as yourself?" Raoul laughed. "No wonder she was so frightened of you."

"At least when she looks at me in fear there is truth in her eyes," I said. He jabbed me in the flesh of my stomach for my words.

"Let there be truth to your pain as well."

I flinched, but I refused to grant him the satisfaction of crying out in pain. Let him drag it out, let him do whatever he would, I wouldn't give him the satisfaction. If he killed me, then he also killed Christine, for she would surely get lost and die in the sewers if she tried to come and find me. We would be together in death. I hoped it would be maddening to the viscomte. Perhaps then he could understand.

He brought back the stick and hit me across the chest, then across the face. "You will tell me how to reach her, or you will die at my hand."

"If you kill me," I growled, "You will stand no chance at finding her."

"Enough with this!" he said, throwing the stick at me. It made contact with my head and I slumped over, opening my eyes only to find that everything was spinning. The viscomte took something from his pocket, something small and glaring in the sunlight. It wasn't until he knelt down beside me and in one swift movement pressed it deep into my side that I realized it was a long, thin knife. "I hope you enjoy pain monsieur."

I hissed and tried to pull away from him, but with my arms bound I was useless. He twisted the knife in my side before withdrawing it quickly, wiping the blood on my shirt.

"Where is Christine?" he asked. I spat at him. He scowled at me as he stood up. "I'll ask you one more time. _Where_ is Christine?" I refused to say anything in reply, and he kicked me, his foot connecting very close to where he had stabbed me. The pain that radiated from the wound was exquisite. Molten lead running through my veins would've been less painful.

"Your silence will cost you your life!" he roared. I fought to calm myself enough to speak, but he kicked me again in the same spot, only much harder this time. I rolled painfully onto my back, my hands digging into the icy, snow-covered ground. I grabbed for anything that I might be able to use to loosen the rope that bound my wrists together, but before I could get my hands around anything, Raoul's boot came smashing down in my face. Turning my head as the shadow hit me was the only thing that saved my nose from being flattened by his anger.

My vision was growing dark. Soon I would pass out, and who could know if I would ever rouse again?


	20. Chapter 20

I drifted in and out of consciousness for a long time, drifting deeper into the darkness of my mind only to be pulled back to life by some horrible pain. The Vicomte de Chagny had taken to whipping me. I'm sure he relished in every tiny, involuntary noise I made. My back, my shoulders, both sides of my head… All felt like my skin was on fire. At some point, he must have cut me loose, because I woke to find that I could move my hands, but after being whipped a few more times, I knew it would be pointless to try and push myself up.

The whipping finally stopped, and I fell into a deep sleep, my body aching but still very much alive. I neither wondered nor cared if Raoul de Chagny realized that I still lived, just as I neither wondered nor cared how horrible of pain I would be in when next I woke, if I were to wake again at all. It was amazing, the lengths to which my body could be tortured without it killing me. I found myself cursing my ability to survive.

I found, next time I woke, that the viscomte had made a mistake. One I hoped I would live to rub in his face. When he pulled me up from where I had curled up after he'd whipped me, I realized my hands were free. It was with that realization that I managed to grab onto his wrist when he dragged me along. The surprise in his face was delicious as I managed to pull him down, causing him to trip and fall, his body tangling with mine as we rolled down a narrow hallway. We tumbled down some stairs before finally separating. I tried to land face down so he would have less to cause real damage to if he managed to stand before I could.

But he didn't. I managed to pull myself to my feet, but the viscomte did not budge. At first glance, it appeared that he had been knocked round the head hard enough to put him unconscious for a while. I moved quickly, taking his boots and his cloak. I also took the small knife he had stabbed me with, which was in his front pocket.

I was thankful for the large hood on his cloak. It made up for my missing mask.

Every step was agony. The viscomte's feet were at least two sizes smaller than my own, but the small size of his boots on my feet was the least of my concerns. Every step seemed to reopen the wounds on my back. Every little movement seemed to worsen the stab wound in my side. But I knew which direction I needed to go in. Once I reached the outside and the cold, bitter winter air, I could see the city. Deep within the city lay the opera house. I would find the nearest entrance to the sewers. Traveling underground I would stand a better chance of outrunning anyone who might chase me.


	21. Chapter 21

It took less time than I guessed for Raoul to give chase. Three men on horseback, Raoul and two of his family's servants perhaps, were on my tail before I managed to even reach the first alleyway. I staggered along through the streets, trying to find a proper crowd or even just a good dark space I could hide in.

They were very nearly upon me when I spotted a narrow alley I could sneak down. If they wanted to come after me, they'd have to get off their horses, and I could steal away long before they'd catch up to me. _Why can't they just let me go?_ I thought as I on, forcing my aching muscles and steadily weakening body to move forward.

The opera house wasn't as far as I had thought it to be, but I wasn't approaching it from a familiar direction. I knew I had to be coming up on an entrance to the sewers that I could squeeze through, but I wasn't looking forward to having to scrape and bruise my already quite swollen body against the stone street and walls.

I just wanted to make it to my home. I wanted nothing more than to see Christine once more. I wouldn't force her to look upon the full ugliness of me, but merely look upon her from afar. If I would die, I didn't want to die where she would find and be horrified by my corpse.

Part of me still hoped I would live, though I felt weaker with every step I took and horrific pain shot outward from where I'd been stabbed with every movement I made.

I slipped down into the sewer, groaning loudly as I scraped my wounded side against the stone of the entrance. As I made my first turn, I heard another person slip into the sewer. I didn't have to turn around to verify that it was the viscomte. His footsteps were heavy and quick, but not quick enough to catch me. I knew immediately what his plan was. Thinking of Christine, I couldn't even bring myself to try and deceive him. I just hoped that he would take pity on me and allow me just a moment to say goodbye before he took her away from me forever.


	22. Chapter 22

I reached the lake, cold and vast and deep, after limping along for longer than I would've thought I could have. The Viscomte de Chagny kept pace with me, remaining just far enough behind me that he could see where I went but he thought I was unaware of him.

"Christine?" I called across the water.

"Erik?" I heard a hopeful cry in return.

"Christine, I need your help, please. I need you to bring the boat to me. I do not have very long."

"What? Angel?" she sounded horribly worried. I cursed myself for making her worry. "Where am I bringing the boat?"

"Just follow my voice, paddle straight out from the landing, and don't stand on the boat, I don't want you to endanger yourself," I called, trying to sound more soothing. I pressed my hand to the stab wound, which was radiating sharp, lingering spikes of pain in all directions. _And hurry,_ I begged her silently, _I don't want to be completely useless this last time I see you, but I'm so weak._

Behind me, I could hear Raoul approaching me. "Monsieur le Viscomte," I said, fighting for the breath to propel my words, "Please don't mistake me for a fool. I've heard you following me this whole time."

I didn't have it in me to turn to face him, but I knew he could only have been a few feet behind me now. My hand rested on the handle of the knife I'd pilfered from him. I wished I possessed the strength to turn and jam that knife deep into the other man's chest, but I forgot entirely about my quarrels with the viscomte when I saw Christine approaching in the boat.

"Here, Christine," I called, lifting my arm and waving weakly at her. She seemed relieved when she caught sight of me, and I pulled the viscomte's cloak closer around myself in an effort to disguise how badly I was hurt.

"Christine!" the viscomte hollered from behind me.

"Raoul?" The way Christine said his name was almost lyrical. My heart, which had been soaring at the mere sight of her approaching, fell faster than a stone. I felt strangely hollow inside.

I felt Raoul put a heavy hand on my shoulder as he stepped out next to me. The weight of his hand against my shoulder made me sway. I feared that I would fall.

Christine was close now, the boat was maybe ten feet out. "Erik?" she asked, furrowing her brow. She looked horribly concerned, but when her gaze flicked to the viscomte, all her worry washed away.

_Please_, I silently begged the viscomte, _please just allow me to say goodbye. One last act of kindness for poor Erik before death takes him._

As Christine reached out to grab ahold of the landing the viscomte and I stood on, Raoul de Chagny shoved me over far harder than would have honestly been necessary to subdue me. I collapsed, unable to even move my arms to try and catch myself. The hood fell away from my face as the rest of the cloak twisted around my body, thankfully hiding the majority of the injuries I sustained at the hands of the viscomte from Christine, who let out a horrible shriek as she laid her eyes upon me.

"Raoul!" she cried, "What's happened to him? Let me go!"

I was beginning to have a hard time focusing my eyes as I stared up at them, trying to make sense of what had happened, what was still happening. The viscomte had Christine, _my poor Christine_, by the arms and was holding her back. She looked so frightened and so sad, and she was trying to come and comfort her poor Erik.

"Raoul please!" she begged as she tried to pull away from him, "Raoul, what have you done to him?" She finally tore herself way from the fop, who glared down at me with nothing but anger in his eyes as the girl who had chosen him, who had always chosen him, fell to her knees beside me, hesitantly taking my head into her lap.

"Christine," I said, trying to raise my hand to wipe away the tears that were streaming down her cheeks, but I was too tangled in fabric. It was for the best, I would've likely smeared blood across her perfect face, just another ugly stain I would be the cause for. "Don't cry," I begged her, "Please don't cry for Erik. If it is his time, Erik would rather remember you the way he most admired you." My body was wracked with a horrible coughing fit, blood spraying across her chest as I was unable to control myself. "Oh Christine, I'm so sorry-"

"Hush now," she begged, "save your strength, we'll take you away from here, get you the help you need." Her voice was growing ever more shrill, her face ever more panic-stricken. Over her shoulder, I could still see Raoul glaring down at me. I knew what he was thinking because it was the same thing I was. Erik did not deserve the tenderness with which she held me.

"Will you sing for me?" I asked, my voice a raspy whisper. Christine nodded, almost too eagerly, as she pressed her hand to my cheek. The warmth of her skin was like heaven, and I knew it was the closest I would come to such a place.

Christine cleared her throat and tried to steady herself from how she cried before she began singing an old lullaby I hadn't heard since I'd eavesdropped at the window of another child one night during my own childhood. I stared up at her, drinking in every second of the song as her beautiful voice echoed through the cavern.

When she had finished singing, I heaved a great sigh and I closed my eyes. Christine shook me by the shoulders, then cradled my head to her chest as horrible sobs ripped through her chest. She would never know that my death was caused by her lover.

I became very, very still, and after sobbing over the loss of her angel of music for a long time, I felt Christine press her lips to my forehead. I managed to smile slightly as Raoul finally pulled her away from me. I couldn't hear what he told her in order to get her to go down the tunnel so she wouldn't see what he did next.

I was pulled from the floor roughly and cradled momentarily against another chest before I fell. The water was cold and deep and dark, and my lungs protested only for a moment as I breathed in what would be my last breath. Death came for me at last, and I would haunt the opera house no more.

Fin


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